


ranger, fractum (revisited)

by majortom, Maleficium



Category: Fallout: New Vegas, vulpes inculta - Fandom
Genre: Brutality, Caesar's Legion, Consensual Non-Consent, F/M, Heavy BDSM, Sadism, Slavery, non-concensual non-consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 18:19:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4190127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majortom/pseuds/majortom, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maleficium/pseuds/Maleficium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vulpes takes a Ranger.  </p><p> </p><p>I had been waiting for an excuse to write something like this for a long time.  I read Majortom's Currere Sex and totally fell in love with her writing and her interpretation of these characters and was super excited when she posted Ranger, Fractum.  She mentioned wanting someone to fill in some of the naughty bits and so I jumped at the opportunity.  I altered the original Ranger, Fractum to suit my vision of what Vulpes Inculta should be.  Some dialogue has been enhanced, and the naughtier parts have been added by yours truly.  Vulpes is a sadist, in case anyone needed reminding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ranger, fractum (revisited)

Vulpes Inculta pushed aside the flap of the _contubernium_ tent.  He squinted into the darkness, allowing his eyes to adjust and finally rest on his new prize, splayed out on the bed in chains.    
  
He smirked to himself.  

The Ranger’s eyes were burning with anger, which overlaid her shame like a thin veil.  Her hatred was palpable as soon as Vulpes entered the tent. Hatred. Indignation. Fear. Vulpes was very familiar with the look. This wasn't his first Ranger, after all.

He stopped by the foot of the metal-framed cot and considered her.  He mentally outlined the different ways he could break her. Lanius surely never prevaricated over what to do to his slaves. Ever the one-track mind. As though breaking a person was as simple as breaking a pelvis. Vulpes preferred a more...personalized approach. He had a good amount of time to work on this one. Perhaps he'd try something a bit more involved this time.  
  
“Well well well.  If it isn’t my favorite Ranger.  My favorite by default of course, as you’re the only one left from your party of mediocre scouts.” He waited for her reaction. Her eyes flashed and her teeth bared as much as they could behind the cleave gag.  “What a predicament you’ve found yourself in, Ranger.”

He reached down to stroke her honey-brown hair, shorn close to the scalp and uneven, as was custom for all new female Legion slaves.  She violently jerked her head away from him and grunted against the gag.  Her hair was damp to the touch, indicative of recent struggle against her bonds.  Or fear. Or the oppressive Mojave heat. Vulpes found any of these possibilities delightful. 

"No need to be afraid, woman. I am not going to beat you. Well...Unless you do something to deserve it. But I don't think you're stupid enough to disappoint me, are you? Not like the last one anyway." He reached behind her head, and she thrashed in protest. “shhhhhh…”.  He was aware that his consolation was transparently insincere. He had never needed to make an effort to mask his tendency toward sadism, and didn’t plan on starting now. He untied the knot on the cleave gag and threw the cloth to the ground.

She spat toward him, but her mouth was too dry. "Fuck you, dirty Legion scum!  I have nothing to say to you.  You will get nothing from me, so I would suggest you save your energy and just kill me already!"

Vulpes scoffed. “You think you’d be so lucky” he said, with an unsettling grin.  He stood, and stepped several paces back to drink in the vision of his captive. There was something so very satisfying in the sight of this arrogant, prideful woman freshly shorn and wearing Legion rags, chained to a cot in the tent of the greatest of Caesar’s Frumentarii. His tent, his cot, his woman. Her fate was completely at his discretion.  He felt a shiver run down his spine, but pushed back the urge that accompanied it. There would be time for physical gratification later.  He wasn’t done toying with her.   
  
He pulled up a stool and perched next to the cot. "Do you think there is any information you have that I do not? The NCR’s recent efforts at reconnaissance are laughable at best.  The outcome of your most recent “mission” should illustrate that for you quite well. Your superiors have demonstrated their incompetence in countless ways since their failure to take the Dam.Your troops falter as a result of the overall inadequacy of the NCR; your comrades fell because of this.  The NCR is a derelict organization peopled by profligate troops and desperate whores only concerned with personal gratification, and pitted against the superiority of the Legion” - the Ranger scoffed - "they are destined to fall sooner or later.  However, I had hoped a Ranger as skilled as yourself would at least recognize that when she is chained to a bed it's not for military intelligence."

Her lip curled up like a dog's snarl. He ran a finger down her jaw and he felt her shudder at his touch. He pulled the gag from her mouth.

"What is your name, whore?"

"Fuck you."

"Interesting. Tribal, is it? I'll soon fix that. I'll give you a new one. How about Aconia?"

She looked away from him. "Fuck you," she replied.

"Artia?"

"Fuck you."

"Attia?"

"Fuck you."

"Bruttia?"

"Fuck you."

"Calpurnia?"

"Fuck you."

Vulpes smiled. He had all the patience in the world. 

****

She finally stopped at Vita.  
  
"Fuck, does it matter? Call me Vita, call me nothing at all, just fucking shut up!"  
  
Vulpes was secretly impressed.  The last one had folded at the letter E, though he suspected it was because he had used her mother’s name – cruelly and purposefully.  

"So, Vita. Let me tell you the rules. This is my tent, and because you are mine, you will remain here as a fixture within it until you are instructed to do otherwise. You will not leave until I give you permission. Until I can trust you, you will wear these," he said, fingering the cold metal shackles that bound her wrists and ankles together by a length of chain. She ignored him. "When you make me happy, you will be rewarded. When you make me unhappy, you will be…punished. It is quite simple.”  
  
She glared at him.   
  
“I don't want to hurt you, Vita,” he lied.  “However, you must be trained before you can serve any useful purpose here."

The Ranger looked at him and then looked at her feet. "Fuck you,” she murmured.

Vulpes sighed. "Not yet, Vita. You haven't earned it."  
  
He grabbed his Vexiliarius helmet from the table and left. He thought he heard her choke back a sob. 

  
****

For an entire month, all he did was touch her.   
  
The first few times were the worst, before she’d learned to swallow her pride.  Before she learned how to endure, and hold onto the hope that she one day might escape.  
  
The first time, he left her legs shackled together, but fastened her arms to either side with crude, scratchy rope.  He ran his fingers lightly down her sides, her thighs and her neck. She tried to kick him away instinctively when his hand crept just below her navel.  She was met with several sharp slaps to the face.  She cried out and buried her face against her shoulder. He responded to her cursing with his open hand on her breasts, thighs and stomach.   
  
“Now.  Let’s try again,” he hissed. His hand moved to her breasts and cupped them so gently it made her want to vomit.  His hand slid past her navel and over her inner thigh, but never made contact in a way she anticipated.  It somehow felt better when he hit her.  Every time his hand brushed the soft flesh of her thighs or slid just below her stomach, her physical reaction seemed so…incorrect.   
  
At the end of the month Vulpes knew he was getting closer. It only took a purposeful glance to make her shiver.  He came to sit next to her and he could see her involuntarily push her hips up, as if straining to meet his touch.  
  
****

The next morning Vulpes allowed her to be unchained but still shackled while he was in the tent with her.  
  
Despite this kindness, the Ranger continued to push her boundaries. Spitting.  Refusing to eat.  Being asked to do things more than once.  Rudeness. Astounding levels of hostility. He made a mental note of each infraction.  He knew these reactions were only natural and were to be expected when breaking in a new slave (particularly the endlessly stubborn Rangers), but his process was taking longer than what he was used to.  
  
As Vulpes waited for his small group of Legionaries to prepare for their next raid, he occupied himself with her.   
  
She had refused to eat the roasted meat he had so generously prepared for her.  He pointed out that many of his Legionaries often derived sustenance during raids from canned food and boxes of Sugar Bombs while she was offered fresh meat, and she made a pointed remark about the overall fortitude of the Legion.    
  
He tied her face down on the cot and fetched a crop from his locked footlocker.  
  
“I suppose you don’t think I’ve made a note of each time you have spat, sworn, insulted, or refused to follow an order.  This is just one of many disappointing mistakes.”  
  
She heard him close the footlocker and twisted and flailed trying to see him.  
  
"What are you doing? What is that?"  
  
"This, my ignorant little profligate" he said, holding the crop at the ends and bending it slightly, "is a crop. You might have seen Caravaneers use them on pack brahmin to keep them moving." He slid the crop through his hand. The leather was cool to the touch. "I don't recall ever using this one on Brahmin…” he mused.  “However, it has proved to be quite effective in every situation I have needed it.  
  
"What--" she shifted uncomfortably.  
  
_Crack_  
  
“FUCK”

"You do not talk back to me."

 _Crack._  Vulpes always enjoyed using his whole body to swing this particular implement.  Almost a graceful motion – the movement of his arm as he brought the crop above his head, the smooth arc as he swung it forward, the small step he took to employ its full force. He arrogantly wished she could see him and he briefly contemplated moving her so that she could. 

"Stop!  Please!"

"You do not talk back to me, you do not speak ill of the Legion."

“Fuck, I'm sorry--"

 _Crack_.  
  
“Repeat those words back to me”.

The Ranger wailed. Her words devolved into tears, and her fingernails dug into her palms as she helplessly thrashed against the ropes that bound her.  The worst part was that she knew this was a pale shadow of the cruelty of Vulpes Inculta, the man who fellow Rangers had whispered about around fires as though he were nothing more than a legend employed to instill fear in disobedient children.

"If you are truly sorry, you will rectify your behavior. I will continue until you are quiet."

She bit her tongue but the sting of the crop made her shout involuntarily.  
_  
Crack._

When he was finally done with her, he placed the crop back in the locker and quickly smoothed a salve over the flesh on her thighs, calves, back and ass.  His hands lingered uncomfortably on the areas between her thighs. He pulled his hand away, leaned forward and gave her a tender kiss on the temple after adjusting her restraints.  
  
“Remember what we’ve talked about.  I will return tomorrow by nightfall.  Eat the food they bring you.  I will know if you didn’t.”

  
**** _  
_

When he returned, he sat attending to a map that lay on the metal desk near the opening of the tent.  He hunched over the map and the papers beside it for what seemed like hours. The Ranger shifted, hoping that he would notice her.  She noisily moved the chains around, adjusting her position more than was necessary. Vulpes smiled to himself.   He had no pressing need to speak with Caesar, not today.  He left anyway and headed for Caesar’s tent, fully aware of her desperation.   
  
He returned a half hour later.  After drinking deeply from his canteen, he leaned over her, saying nothing. He moved closer, breathing in deep. There was no tenderness in the gesture. He closed his eyes and drank in her scent.  Fear.  Fear, of course, but now something else.  He listened to her breath quicken.  He unfastened his armor and set it aside.  
  
He moved closer to her and let his sweat fall on her skin. His hand hovered over her neck, not quite touching her skin but allowing the warmth of his body to touch her. He saw her shiver and she made a small noise from behind the gag.  Her eyes were squeezed shut.  
  
“Open your eyes.  Open your eyes and look at me.” She did nothing.  
  
His other hand moved to his belt and the first sound of metal her eyes shot open wide. The pace of her breathing quickened.   
  
“Good girl, but I should not have to ask more than once. I know you know better”  
  
He slid his fingers up the crease between her legs. He whispered, as if to himself “ _Nemo congressu, nemo aditu, nemo suffragio, nemo civitate, nemo luce dignum putet_. _._  
  
"What... what are you saying?”  
  
“ _Ah, lassitudinem Hercle verba tua mihi addunt, enicas_.”  he grinned. His fingers entered her, for the first time since he’d had her chained inside his tent.  Her whole body tensed and her eyes shot open wide. Fear, of course fear, and hate but also…wanton need.  He could feel it in her movements. The Ranger pushed against him, hard, greedily.   
  
“ _nihil spurcius est te_ ”  
  
“what does it mean, please, what do you want…”  
  
Vulpes paused, as if he had to think about the question. Her hips were grinding against him and he wondered if she even realized it.  
  
"Nothing," he stated bluntly. He got up suddenly, threw a blanket over her, shoved the gag back into her mouth and left the tent. The chains clanked loudly as her whole body protested the cruel interruption.  
  
Outside, he grinned.  
  
****  
  
The next night he chained her so that she knelt at his feet as he reviewed the documents Caesar had given him earlier.  
  
He reached down to stroke her hair occasionally. She only pulled away the first time, and he grabbed a fistful of her hair and held her steady for just over ten seconds before loosening his grip to stroke her hair again.  
  
He finished, and unchained her.  He allowed her to stand and he steadied her as she stumbled. She flinched, expecting him to hit her. He held her still until her breathing had resumed a normal pattern.  He ran his hands across her skin, reaching up to pull the gag from her mouth… “You’ve been reasonably behaved today, I think that merits a reward, don’t you?  
  
She looked at him uncertainly. 

He guided her backwards so she was pressed against a beam.  He kissed her, and she did not pull away.   
  
“Good girl” he murmured, softly stroking her skin. “You’ve been such a good girl today”…

She looked up at him hungrily, pleading. He touched her softly and it was enough to make her whole body lean into him.  She rode his fingers and as his other hand pushed her hips down harder she was allowed release.  
  
****

Days later she was punished again with the crop for correcting Vulpes’ choice of words and neglecting to address him the way he had demanded. 

When he was through, he saw a glint of hatred in her eyes as he sat on the bed next to her. He ran his hand through her hair.  
  
“Do you know what would happen if you left my tent and spoke like that to anyone else? They would kill you on the spot. I am teaching you a useful tool, Vita, for which you should be grateful.”

She didn't respond.

"Are you going to talk back to me again, Vita?" he asked.

"No," she spat.

His hand tightened painfully around her hair. "What was that, Vita?"

"I said no, Sir," she said quietly.

"Dominus” he corrected her. “Are you sorry?"

"I am sorry, Dominus."

He relaxed his grip and began stroking her again. "I worry for you, you know. If you can't behave, you will surely perish, and my efforts will have been a waste."

She whimpered slightly as he ran a damp cloth over the welts on her back and slathered them with a healing paste.  
__  
  
**** __  
  
Days passed, and days turned into weeks.  The Ranger was exhausted, constantly.  She hurt, though he punished a different part of her using different techniques in a careful rotation.  Vulpes Inculta hurt her, but he never harmed her in ways that would prevent him from being able to use her again, and again and again. __  
  
On a particularly hot night, Vulpes entered the tent and sat. He looked fatigued. He turned to the Ranger and sighed.  
  
“Do you ever have days when even a crucifixion-as-example cannot convince your Legionaries to follow basic instruction?”  
  
“No, I’m not a cruel despot,” she muttered under her breath. He turned back to her and scoffed.  
  
“You know, you should really thank me instead of throwing weak insults in my direction.  I’m the only reason you are not currently hanging on a cross outside the encampment. For your sake, I suggest you mind your tongue.  There are others who lack my compassion and I’d just as easily have them deal with you so I don’t have to.”  As the words left his mouth, he knew there would be no fun in that.  He enjoyed every minute of this.  He enjoyed her undivided attention.  Of course he was not willing to share this with anyone.  
  
Vulpes rose and began to unfasten his armor.  The Ranger watched him, scowling.  The shoulder pads came off and he stretched in relief. Then came the leather chest armor, and the standard issue Legion tunic.  The Ranger’s eyes moved over his body, though the hate in her expression did not subside.  He caught her eye and she looked away.   
  
He reached out toward her and she flinched, pulling away from him as much as the taut metal chains would allow.  He swatted at her face.  “Be still, cunt.  I’m going to untie you.” He unfastened the shackles around her wrists and ankles, leaving the metal collar with its heavy chain around her neck.  He was making progress but she wasn’t to be trusted, not yet. “Sit up”.  He set a tin cup before her on a stack of metal boxes, as well as a small package of Cram.  She accepted both readily.  He sat on a crate and waited until she finished.   
  
“Now.  Stand.” She didn’t move. Vulpes reached to his side for his blade and the Ranger stood at the first sound of scraping metal against the scabbard.  “Good.” Vulpes moved close to her, and paused as he came to step just behind her.  He slid her slave tunic from her body and it fell to the floor. The Ranger shifted uncomfortably and swallowed as he brought her hands to her sides and locked her in place in the middle of the room, arms bound loosely against a sturdy metal beam and shackled in a way that allowed her the freedom to shift her position when necessary.  He stepped back and let his eyes travel over her body, paying close attention to her face. She wasn’t gagged, but she made no sound – a definite improvement from the first month in captivity. She still wore a spiteful expression but he could see the fire fading, and she had no retort to throw at him. This was always one of his favorite parts of his process - the point at which defiance meets abject helplessness. Yes, he could work with this. He bit his lip and hesitated, but ignored his craving and stepped out of the tent into the Mojave sun.  
  
****  
  
Vulpes did not return until days later.  He shoved the tent flap aside, the Ranger shook despite herself, even though she’d already grown used to the chilly evening temperature. Her strength was waning, having not eaten or sat down for nearly twelve hours when the last Legionnaire had thrown an open can of squirrel stew in her direction.  
  
She could tell he was in a foul mood by the way he flung his helmet and goggles harshly on the table.  Something in the way he moved planted a seed of worry.   Vulpes spent several minutes sitting, seemingly glaring into space. He rubbed his temples and his brow furrowed.  The Ranger shifted uncomfortably and the clink of her chains seemed to bring him back to the present.   
  
“Right,” he muttered in her general direction.  He stepped closer to her and a sliver of light illuminated fresh blood on his boots, on his uniform and stained on exposed parts of his skin. He smelled of dust, sweat and death.  
  
She spoke against the gag.  He tore it from her mouth impatiently.   
  
“I hope what you have to say is important” he snapped.  
  
“That blood…” she smiled weakly.  “I can tell that it’s Legion blood.  What, your boys couldn’t handle the NCR?  Is it because the Legion's hand-to-hand combat training is no match for NCR assault rifles somehow?  Who would have thought…” Her spite bubbled to the surface and she couldn't help herself. She knew she would suffer for this, but it didn’t matter.  Maybe he would even kill her. It was worth it.  
  
Vulpes Inculta's expression darkened.  While the Ranger's verbal jabs were always punished, Vulpes generally seemed to approach her punishments with an aire of enjoyment, like a fox toying with a rabbit before tearing out its throat with his teeth. Her eyes moved over him nervously, and she could not recognize anything familiar in his demeanor. Vulpes inhaled sharply and turned away from the Ranger, striding toward a locked cabinet on the south side of the tent. Something heavy scraped against the rusted surface of the locker. He approached her again, and she squinted to see him but could only make out his shadow against the sliver of moonlight that filtered through the tent opening. He thrust the rag back into her mouth ungently, shoving it deeper into her throat than usual.  She retched and coughed.  He untied her arms and retied them above her, with rope instead of chain.  He unshackled her feet.  The rope that held her wrists was lashed to a length of chain fixed to a support beam.  
  
He circled her slowly, and came to a stop somewhere behind her, just beyond her line of sight. The silence was unnerving. The chain above her clinked as she trembled uncontrollably, shifting her feet from side to side. She was acutely aware of the blood surging through her veins as her heart pounded against her chest. She began to feel light headed.  
  
He descended upon her with inhuman speed. In a split second, a hand gripped her throat to hold her steady and she yelped as she felt cold metal against her breastbone. His blade dug into her deep enough to draw blood, and it ran in a hot river down her stomach.  As he circled her, he dragged his blade across every tender part of her that was exposed. In fluid movements he danced around her, striking, gouging and twisting at her flesh.  He marked her savagely, using his nails, his blade, the closed fist, the open palm. He dug his fingers into parts of her she wasn't even aware of, using his knowledge of tender pressure points to tear pleas from her throat. Tears spilled in hot, shameful rivulets into her gag as she desperately tried not to scream – an exercise in self-preservation more than pride.  
  
Vulpes wrapped himself around her from behind, giving himself a solid grip while immobilizing her entire body.  His hand slid past her navel and he forced his hand between her legs and hooked his fingers into her cunt. As he invaded her with his fingers, his teeth dug into her trapezoid and she screamed through her gag. He pulled back, one hand moved up to hold her throat, forcing her head steady as he descended upon her again. His teeth carved into her shoulder, her neck, her upper arm.  Vulpes remained silent as he worked.  
  
As he spun her around to face him, the light of the one kerosene lamp that remained lit briefly illuminated his face.  His eyes glinted in the dim light. There was nothing human in his expression.  She screamed as he lunged into her, pressing himself against the front of her body. She instinctively tried to kick him away as his face moved downwards but he grabbed her legs with both arms and sunk his teeth into her thigh.  When he rose, she saw blood on his lips. His thumb and fingers dug into her jaw, holding her face still, and his other arm wrapped around her to hold her tightly against him. He moved his fingers across her back in a poor imitation of a caressing gesture. He was mocking her. Vulpes met her eyes and leaned forward ever so slightly and for a split second it looked as though he was going to kiss her. He smiled and spat in her face. Red fluid dripped on her breast as her own blood mixed with his saliva ran down her cheek.   
  
“Be still.”  She was shaking, and choking back tears.  He smacked the flat end of the blade sharply against her thigh.  “ _Still_ , lest things suddenly become much worse for you” he hissed.  
  
He brought the tip of the blade between her legs and she froze as she felt the cold metal against the tenderest part of her flesh. She whimpered pathetically as he spread her apart with the blade.  Her legs opened wider involuntarily, as her body struggled to inch away from the sharpness of Vulpes’ gladius.   
  
“Would you like to know what happened to the last Ranger, the one who could not control herself?  Who, after months of my time and efforts to train her, still insisted on behaving like a self-serving, savage whore?  Some degenerates aren’t worth the trouble; I know this.  I am usually correct in my initial assessments of an individual’s capabilities or lack thereof, but last time I was wrong.  That one wasn’t even worth breeding.  Shame, for someone so pretty.”  He considered his blade.  “Well, was. Once she was pretty…. But you won’t waste my time like she did, will you?”   
  
“…Please…” she whimpered against the dirty fabric.  
  
He looked at her, his eyes glinting monstrously in the dark.  
  
“Please, Vulpes…” she begged. She begged with her whole body. Every movement was a desperate plea.   
  
Vulpes was beside himself with satisfaction.  This.  _This_ is where he wanted her.  Desperate, begging, pleading.  Now she was eager to please, now she would do _anything._ And where was her pride now? But, there was more to take from her. He could push her further.  
  
He stepped back, and reached behind him, holding eye contact with the Ranger.  Her eyes gave him just what he wanted when she saw he was holding a small whip. She began writhing, preemptively struggling against her bonds, trying to evade blows that hadn’t fallen yet.  
  
“Also a Brahmin trainer.  And just like my crop, I have found that it works on profligate whores just as well.”  
  
From the first crack of the whip against the back of her thighs, he knew they were in a special place.  He ragged, muffled screams were music to him.  He desperately wanted to have her right there, to cut her down and devour her whole, but he could be patient.  He only had to go into the nearest town to take that from someone. He worked her thighs, her ass and her breasts with the whip until her voice grew hoarse and he deemed her suitably exhausted.  He left her crumpled on the floor before retiring to his cot.  The frustration of the day’s events had been transferred to his Ranger’s flesh, and Vulpes Inculta slept soundly.  
  
****

He fucked her the next morning.  Neither of them spoke.  He approached her, and rather than shy away from him, he saw her legs open slightly.  She was drained, and had no energy for defiance.  This was progress.  She did not need to be asked, and gave freely what she thought he wanted.  She was rendered helpless, wanton and eager to make him happy, even if it was only so she wouldn't get hurt anymore. He made her look up at him while he fucked her, and she complied. He flipped her over and held her facedown on the moth eaten blanket so she was forced to struggle for breath as he worked himself inside her until he was satisfied.  She made no attempt to resist.  

He left her again, this time for several weeks.  
  
Vulpes knew she wouldn't admit to feeling badly. She would not admit that she felt abandoned or guilty or lonely when he didn't come back that night, worried that she had done something wrong. She might not even realize that she was feeling any of that, but he knew.  The formula of his practice was honed down to an art, and only once had it not worked, but that was a special case.  (Shame, but Lanius was happy to have a new toy, for as long as she lasted). He could always determine the different stages of brokenness based on speech and gesture. And this one was at the point where she craved his company, whether she was aware of it or not. To be fair, it was the only company she ever got, which was exactly why he kept her in the tent.  
  
"Good morning, Vita” he said when he returned.

"Good morning Dominus," she mumbled.  
  
She downed the can of food he had brought her, as well as the purified water without a thank you.  Vulpes frowned, but said nothing. 

Vulpes climbed on the cot and straddled her hips.

She sucked in a small breath. She closed her eyes and turned her face away. He smiled, and let her. She was progressing so well, that it didn’t hurt to allow tiny bits of resistance.  They would fade too, eventually. 

Vulpes leaned down and put his open mouth on her chest, between her breasts.  He pulled aside the fabric of her robe.  His tongue, flat and soft, traced the outline of one, then the other. Her ribcage rose and fell quickly. He worried her nipple with his teeth, gently, and sucked on them until they were raised and sensitive. His fingers traced down her side to her thighs and stroked them, moving in slow circles toward her inner thigh. He could feel the small twitches of her muscles against his arm. Her eyes were still screwed tightly shut, her face pointed away from him. Her legs opened slightly and her hips raised slightly.

He did not wait for her to give him more space. He covered her with his hand and spread his fingers to force her legs apart. After a token resistance and a strangled sound in the back of her throat, she complied.   
  
His fingers entered her and her wetness was immediate. He knew that if she could cover her face with her hands, she would.   
  
“good girl” he whispered to her.   
  
She didn't make another noise for ten minutes. When she came, the moan sounded like it was torn forcibly from a reluctant throat, though perhaps part of that was due to his hand closed around her neck.  He didn’t need to pin her down this way anymore, but he didn’t feel like depriving himself of this particular pleasure.  He could still detect her shame, her shyness, but that was no matter.  Shame was good, as long as her compliance was automatic.

She cried less than before when he left.

****

Vulpes entered his tent precisely after sundown. It was empty. A spike of fear went through him. Vita gained full outdoor privileges only a week ago. It had taken eight months to get her that far, to be sure enough of her to allow the movement. Then, after acquainting her with the layout of the camp, Vulpes started with specific errands. Fetch water. Bring these clothes to the wash area. She completed those tasks swiftly. She was afraid of the world outside of the tent. She still avoided it, only leaving to accomplish her chores. She had always been back before sundown. It was the rule.

He decided to check the mess area first. As he pushed aside the flap, he collided with a small body and sent it flying.

"Vita!” he barked. She was sprawled on the ground, pots of rice and water scattered. She immediately scrambled to clean it up. He loomed over her. "You're late."

"I am sorry, Vulpes. I didn't mean to be, I--"

"Get inside. Now."

She went, head bowed.

"Come over here," he said, sitting down on the stool in the corner. Her face was bruised and there was blood on her lip. He bristled.  He suspected what had happened immediately.  
  
"Why were you not back before sundown?"

"Legionaries," she said, a bit forcefully.

"And?" His eyes flashed.

She glanced up at him and her eyebrow raised ever so slightly. She knew he could guess the story. He still waited for her to say it.  
  
"They wanted me to go with them. Behind the mess tent."

"Did you tell them you were mine?"

"Yes. They accused me of lying. Said I wasn't pretty enough to be an owned slave."

"And then?"

"They took me behind the mess tent. They pushed me. Down. On my knees. They -- made me. They made me do it. And--"

He held up a hand to stop her, and looked away.  He breathed deeply, realizing the accuracy of his assumption.  The idiot recruits thought they could use a superior’s property. That would have to be rectified.  The situation might actually work to his advantage, as an action against them would strengthen the Ranger’s bond to him.

"Go clean yourself," he ordered.  
  
He brought supper and they ate silently.  He looked at her and noticed the bruise on her forehead, a bruise that he himself had not given her.  He looked down at his squirrel stew and scowled.

****

The next morning, Vulpes Inculta gathered the newest recruits and had them stand in formation.

"Attention recruits! Theft is not tolerated in the Legion," he said loudly. He paced across each row of men, glaring at each of them.  
  
"This is common knowledge.  To use another man's slave is to steal from him. Some of you have taken what was not yours." He scowled down the line.  “Would anyone like to describe events that occurred near the mess tent last evening around 19:00?”  
  
The line of recruits remained silent and motionless. Vulpes did not have the patience to draw this out, not this time.   
  
“ _stultissimi,”_ he muttered.  
  
"Every tenth legionary step forward."

****

It was a few days before the news traveled around the camp, but an evening came when Vita asked him.

"Vulpes?"  
  
“Dominus” he reminded her.  
  
“Dominus?”

"What is it?" he replied without glancing up from his reports.

"I heard. In the wash tent, they were talking."

He said nothing. She stepped closer to him.

"They said you punished the men who... In the mess tent. That you had them killed."

He set down the report. "Vita, come here. Kneel down." Her eyes were wide, with only the smallest hint of suspicion. Or perhaps fear. "You do not belong to them. You belong to me.  You are my property. The Legion has very clear rules about property and theft, and I punished as I saw fit. The Legion learns from example, that’s the way it’s always been."

She swallowed.

He waited.

"Thank you Dominus," she whispered.

He allowed his face to soften. He brought her to stand next to the bed. He removed her clothing slowly, then his own. He laid her down beneath him and said, "They were wrong, you know. You're beautiful."  
  
“Thank you Dominus”

She looked down shyly, and the gesture made Vulpes realize the extent of her transformation. She’d been a fiery, willful Ranger – so full of spite, and independence.  He had made her, reshaped her, and she was his.  He smiled to himself.   
  
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her close to him. His fingers found the tie that held her slave tunic to her and unfastened it so she stood naked. He pulled her closer, wrapping a hand around the back of her neck to guide her movement.  He didn’t have to tell her what he wanted from her, he had trained her well enough so she understood his non-verbal orders. As he pushed into her, her arms wrapped around his back of their own accord.

****

A month later, Lord Caesar sent Vulpes on an extended mission to the Strip. Vulpes sold his Ranger to Canyon Runner. She had screamed and cried, and pleaded, and made a violent display out of the ordeal.   Vulpes was almost sorry to see her go.  She had been fun.  One of the best, even.  Time consuming, but a worthwhile challenge.  He briefly thought about bringing her with him, but he had no use for broken slaves.   Vulpes Inculta’s satisfaction was located in the struggle, the ritual dance of power and cruelty. The results were important, but they were secondary to the process itself.  Next time, he mused, he might try a more Lanius-like approach.


End file.
